


The Third Men.

by Letha



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letha/pseuds/Letha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since John moved out from 221B Baker Street. Sherlock dares a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Men.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Reichenbach, somewhere in the future. The Third Man has no face in my mind, peeps. Make your own assumptions if you may. This is a small something I wrote between friday and today. It is unbetaed, so I apologize for any and all mistakes that might've been made.
> 
> Let's say this is my own way to celebrate for the first leak of the set for the third series!!! *shrieks uncontrollably*

Sherlock observed him as he moved around the flat, his trained eyes never leaving John's body for even a fraction of a second. He couldn't remember blinking since he had stepped through the door. He was not about to stop staring at who once was his best friend. Not when the man in question had been the only subject he could think about for such a long time; not when he couldn't wake up without missing John; not when he still missed him chastizing Sherlock for his food or sleep deprivation. Not when they were so close physically speaking, yet so far away emotionally.

Not even once did Sherlock's eyes fall upon the other silent person in the room--John's new boyfriend. He didn't even bother to retain his name. It was probably just one of John's meaningless flings, as usual. As much as he hated to think that way about him, Sherlock knew John was unable to stick to one relationship for too long. The detective wondered quite a few times whether the reason was that he hadn't found the right person (and if that person was himself). The third man--that is how Sherlock had decided to call him--stood up and went to the kitchen as if taking an unspoken hint, claiming he was going to make some tea. John and Sherlock were left alone.

The whole room was surrounded by that awkward too-many-secrets-and-unspoken-thoughts-hang-between-us silence, an old companion that even though Sherlock was far from having missed, he did miss his implications, since said atmosphere only appeared whenever John was nearby. He could endure its uncomfortability if he had his former best friend in the same room as he was.

"So, how is the new appartment?" Sherlock asked conversationally.

John started. He had obviously become acquainted with Sherlock in their short-lived flat sharing enough to know that he never asked anything conversationally. Not if it wouldn't lead him to catching a serial killer or something of the sort. And especially not about this topic. Therefore, John just stared at who he used to consider his best friend in awe for a moment before replying.

"I..." He cleared his throat and smiled. "It's okay. We're fine."

He sounded happy. _Way_ too happy. Both Sherlock and John knew that no-one was being fooled by such a shallow and outright lie, but neither of them commented on it. Instead, Sherlock just nodded.

"Good."

Silence fellupon them once again like a heavy, dark veil.

What had happened to them? They used to be best friends. When had it all gone wrong?

If Sherlock had to pin-point one moment, the one where he felt the downfall began, it would be that one night... After a date with a mysterious love interest--Sherlock hadn't thought much about it at the time; none of John's girlfriends ever lasted, so why worry?--John had come home in a particularly good mood: skipping, humming to himself, and smiling like he hadn't had in months. He also smelled... wrong. Behind John's particular scent, there were hints of a different fragance. It was as if he had thrown male perfume all over himself.

 _Male?_ Sherlock had thought at the time, quite estranged. Already, his head was full to the brim of theories as to why John could be smelling that way. As John sat down on the chair across from Sherlock's, he was unable to hide his wincing, and a slow hiss escaped his lips. Sherlock saw all his theories murdered after that one second; all, but one.

Oh, so John _was_ interested in men. Something inside of Sherlock hurt. It would take him months to recognize that pain and acknowledge it as heartache. At that moment, after the fight ended and John had stormed off the room, Sherlock wasn't certain why he had been so upset upon realizing John had just come home from a date--and sex--with a man. Now, years after that, the reasons for his anger seemed idiotically obvious to him: John had said a thousand and one times that he was not gay; he had gotten several girlfriends as if to illustrate his point; he even kept Sherlock's little acting-like-a-couple moments at line. But now he was coming home from an outing with another man, positively glowing in a post-sex haze. That could only mean that it wasn't a relationship with a _man_ what repulsed John, but one with _Sherlock_.

John's boyfriend brought him back to the present as he entered the room with three steaming tea cups on a tray and left them on the coffee table that stood between them. That small moment when Sherlock was unable to see John seemed to knock sense into him. _What was he doing?_ Invading their home, hoping he would realise after all these years... No. He was expecting too much, and he knew it.

He rose to his feet. "I''m sorry, I shouldn't have come..." he trailed off, and the Third Man stared at him in surprise. From behind him, John looked up at Sherlock as if he knew exactly what was going on. Their eyes locked, and Sherlock tried with all his might to push his thoughts into John's head, wishing with all his heart that the mental connection people claimed they had was real. _I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry, I know I lost you a long time ago. I miss you. I won't come back again if you ask me not to. Why him? Why not me? I'm sorry, John._

"It's okay," John replied, getting into a standing position too. "I missed you, Sherlock," he admitted.

Sherlock nodded, moved to the door, and opened it, John following. Once in the corridor, out of nowhere, the detective turned around and engulfed John with his arms. "I miss you too. I'm sorry I never..."

John hugged him too, fisting his hands on his back. His embrace was tight, yet not forced. He was overcome with emotions, or so it seemed. When they pulled back, their eyes met again.

 _Don't do this,_ his eyes seemed to be saying. _Please, don't do this._ He was hurt, Sherlock could see that. When his best friend stopped calling him for no reason, he was left alone. Even more so when he stopped talking to him all together. Sherlock now resented his decisions, but at the time, he was unable to face John without feeling miserable.

"We need to do this again some time," Sherlock stated, instead of finishing his sentence. His sentence sounded like a plea to his ears, but he couldn't care less. He wouldn't let his pride come between them again; even if nothing romantic was ever going to happen, Sherlock needed John in his life.

John sighed, oblivious to his thougts. "Yeah, well, I'm not the one who always disappears."

Sherlock winced. The word stung as he watched John close the door to his appartment before his eyes.

 


End file.
